


snapshots of two disaster dumpster fires

by sleepoverwork



Series: Winterhawk Bingo to go-go [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Awesome Clint Barton, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, BuckyCap - Freeform, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Coffee Shops, Cold Weather, Deaf Clint Barton, Everyone Has Issues, Gen, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Clint Barton, Identity Porn, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Nightmares, Ronin Clint Barton, Secret Identity, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Superhero-ing is hard, Tank-sized Crabs, Teacher Clint Barton, Tech Malfunctioning, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, do not copy to another site, meet ugly, squint and you miss them x-men characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23741839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepoverwork/pseuds/sleepoverwork
Summary: These are prompts I started for Clint Barton/WinterHawk Bingos but because I'm a dumpster fire myself, they kinda just weren't able to really be complete works and are more just long snippets really...This is my first time focusing on anyone besides some version of Tony Stark and I'm pretty okay with these for the most part. They were fun and I hope everyone who read these enjoy! Best wishes to everyone and your loved ones!
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, implied Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov
Series: Winterhawk Bingo to go-go [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718809
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38
Collections: Clint Barton Bingo, Winterhawk Bingo





	1. into the dumpster but not out of the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This snapshot is based on [ronnie’ meet ugly prompt #15](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/274308): I stepped out of the bathroom and right into the middle of a bar fight and you punch me accidentally so I punch back on instinct.  
>  **AKA Clint and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, well-okay-guess-it's-not-all-that- _Bad_ day.**
> 
> WinterHawk Bingo Fill - Bar Fight - B3  
> Clint Barton Bingo Fill - "I'm so sorry" - G4

Clint is having a very bad day. About five hours into the Greyhound ride from Manhattan to Chicago’s Amtrak Station, Clint’s regretting not taking Tasha’s offer for a plane ticket to Iowa. He could have been home already, in his bed, for a nice long three day nap. Instead he’s being woken up every ten minutes by screeching tires or his head bumping against the window. 

Finally, after 18 dreadful hours, he’s late, not surprisingly, off the greyhound because he didn’t wake up right away when they finally stopped. 

Now he’s sprinting with his backpack strap in his mouth and his hands full of suitcase for the another 6 hour bus ride of bumpy seats and mystery smells to go until Waterloo.

Thank the gods that Barney said he would pick him up to drive him the rest of the way to Waverly.

Which is exactly what _didn’t_ happen when Clint’s feet finally touched down in Iowa.

Barney sent him two messages, the first was a picture of a woman lying in bed wearing only whipped cream. 

The second, was “can’t make it lil bro. Got stuff to do ;)”. 

Clint fights the urge to chuck his phone as far into oblivion as his moral muscles will get it. Instead he curses up a blue streak before checking his bank account to see if he can even afford to call an uber. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but he can pick up an extra shift from Scott’s Coffee. Scott was always willing to fit him in as a server or cook while the other man took the day off to spend time with his daughter.

Finally at 2pm, almost an hour later, Clint finally gets home; panics for five minutes when Lucky doesn’t come running to greet him; remembers Katie-Kate still has his dog in LA for another few weekends; promptly drops his hearing aids on the nightstand; then flops face-first on his bed. 

For a measly twenty minutes. 

Wide awake and extremely grumpy, he gets up, puts his ears back in, and sets off the street looking for something to do. 

A bright neon purple sign that states “Joe’s Bar” catches his eye a few minutes later and Clint figures, ‘eh, what’s the worst that could happen now’ and goes right in.

The bartender doesn’t even blink when Clint orders a glass of water; just fills one up and is off to help paying customers. Clint doesn’t mind- he’s definitely done the same in that position, which is why he fishes out some ones from his back pocket and smooths them out a bit before placing them on the other side of the bar. As long as a bartender isn’t nasty, they deserve a tip for service.

The dive bar isn’t exactly flourishing at two in the afternoon, so Clint’s slim pickings for people watching are:

A pickpocket masterfully working his way through several mens’ jackets by distracting them with some card tricks.

A woman wearing sunglasses indoors, watching the same scene with a smile that’s so sharp she would make Natasha nervous (or worse, excited).

A man she keeps nudging, who’s ignoring everyone while swimming in a peeper’s trench coat and throwing back beer like he breathes it. 

Two women who must be regulars by the way they’re sporting large hoodies, tuning out everyone else and chatting away over a plate of garlic fries, three empty glasses, and two partially drunk ones. 

Clint's attention gets caught on the bartender making a bee;ine for them with two fresh glasses of beer. He watches the dirty-blonde look up when he nears and gives him a sweet smile. They start chatting and their body language is friendly so Clint goes to move on when the brunette catches Clint’s eyes with a stare that’s half “kill me now” and half “I’m so over this shit”. Clint rolls his eyes and cheers her with his water glass. He downs it and watches her do the same with the rest of her old beer. 

He watches as she mocks the bartender and her friend. It’s a fun little secret conversation that leads Clint to mentally referring to her as Sassy Cassy. They have a semi-meaningful conversation until Clint realizes he hasn’t peed since he got off the train in Waterloo and now he really fucking needs to go. He motions between himself and the bathroom, doing a small potty dance and she gives him an over exaggerated frown before shoo-ing him away. 

On his way past the booth, he catches Sassy Cassy making creative wacky faces towards her friend and the bartender as they remain blissfully unaware in their conversation. 

As he’s coming out though, is when things really get dicey. As soon as Clint steps out of the bathroom, he’s immediately struck by a fist to the chin from below and therefore, reasonably, goes wacky-inflatable-man back towards his attacker. 

Who’s a whole head shorter than Clint’s 6’3’’ height. 

Who manages to dodge Clint’s original flailing, but gets smacked across his temple with Clint’s forearm in the aftermath.

The man’s brown eyes snap to Clint’s and they’re furious.

“Move,” the man drags out in a way that screams ‘Danger, Will Robinson!’

“Now.”

At least Clint is reasonably sure of his lip-reading skills, since getting punched has rattled his hearing aids enough that they aren’t quite in his ears anymore. 

The guy, now dubbed Sir Grumpy-pants in Clint’s mind, doesn’t even wait for Clint to answer before he’s charging forward. Despite what anyone who knows him might say about his self-preservation skills, Clint is smart enough to hop out of the way quickly.

Good news, it turns out Clint is not who Sir Grumpy-pants was launching himself at. 

Bad news, it turns out there are three men who are causing trouble. The first is taller than Clint with a horrible choice of tribal tattoo on his cheek that’s dodging Sir Grumpy-pants’ punches pretty easily. The second looks to be slightly shorter than Clint and is doubled over laughing, sloshing his drink on the bartender whom he has in a headlock. The last one though, has Sassy Cassy’s face shoved onto the booth table while he’s trying to chat up her friend on the other side- all grease and sliminess. They will now be Tribal John, Giggle John and Slimy John, Clint decides.

He moves before he’s even fully registered when Tribal John goes for an uppercut and manages to snatch the man’s forearm. Sir Grumpy-pants wastes no time decking the guy right in his nose. 

Clint can almost hear the crunch as Tribal John goes down for the count. They all pause for a moment, just staring as blood drains from his nose onto the ground before there’s a flurry of limbs and shouting.

At some point, Clint and Sir Grumpy-pants bump into each other, fighting back-to-back before there’s a jumble of low tones that indicate someone is talking to Clint.

“What?” Clint risks turning around to look at the guy’s lips and gets shoved backwards into him for his troubles.

In the next moment, Clint is carrying one Sir Grumpy-pants in his arms, their momentum spinning them in a circle towards Slimy John. Then, said Grumpy-pants _detaches_ an arm to clunk it right across the man’s cheekbones. They keep spinning, just in time for him to then release his prosthetic arm in an extremely brilliant shot that sends it flying right into Giggle John’s skull as the man tries to back out of reach. 

K.O.

Clint blinks and immediately blurts out ‘marry me’ in his state of awe -because he is nothing, if not an absolute train wreck.

The world slows around him as he searches desperately for a way to remove his foot from his mouth. By small mercies, Sir Grumpy-pants, lets out a disgustingly loud honk and promptly starts cackling, the vibrations traveling from his chest up Clint’s as the man curls further into his arms.

Clint is so dumbstruck that he just… stands there… being a weirdo and enjoying the current human contact. It takes until Sassy Cassy goes to hand the man back his whole prosthetic arm for Clint’s brain to kick into gear and he practically drops Sir Grumpy-pants, whose pants are significantly less grumpy now, in his hurry to let go. He raises a brow and smirks back at Clint, as if how obviously off-kilter Clint is, is their little secret.

The remaining people, Sassy, her dirty-blonde friend, Pick Pocket Pete, Trench Coat Dude, Sharp Lady, Sir(not so) Grumpy-pants, and Clint all help throw the three assholes out by the dumpsters while the bartender calls up law enforcement. They spare a look at each other, and then all start tidying up the fallen chairs and shoved tables from the fight.

Grumpy-pants has got a fat lip and bruises across his flesh arm that threaten to become an extremely colorful collection during the next few days. Clint hasn’t gotten a good look at himself, but the worst ache is in his jaw from the first surprise punch. His left eye is half-closed too, but Clint’s not sure if that’s just his own sleep deprived state or actually from the fight.

They sit around the bar, nursing their free beers (courtesy of the bartender, Danny) as the police parade the three thugs out from the dumpsters and through the bar in handcuffs.

“Sorry about the sucker punch,” Sir Grumpy-pants, who Clint now knows as Bucky Barnes, says.

“Thanks for not using the left,” Clint throws back easily and is rewarded with another horribly loud snort.

They cheers their glasses without looking at each other, which naturally leads to them sloshing beer on themselves but overall, Clint figures he’s had worse days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge shoutout to Ru, you know what you did. 
> 
> okay I just love how vague that is but for the sake of everyone, you are the reason I started reading comics!Clint Barton and now have another disaster human to love. thanks for that, and for getting me to read Tales of Suspense which made me laugh so hard I cried several times over my first reading.
> 
> and hey, for anyone out there, tell me if you can guess the badly cameo'd x-men that have no other purpose than to be there because I love them! Another hint, the two friends and the bartender is me, one of my best friends and every time we go to our favorite dive bar!


	2. trash can not trash cannot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint Barton has had a slew of soulmates in his 32 years of existence. He's a little bit of a mess but everyone ain't all that great either.  
> But really, it's not that big of a deal and so if he needs to crash at the Avengers tower after a long mission, he has a room.  
> If he wakes but disported after some not great memories and dreams, well he's in good company.
> 
> WinterHawk Bingo Fill - Domesticity - O5  
> Clint Barton Bingo Fill - Twight/Dusk/Dawn - G3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ru - thanks for always being willing to read and beta my indulgent writing. I couldn't dream up a better palarino if I tried but hey, I don't need to try to dream you up cause you exist and we're friendos and I adore you!

Clint wakes with a yelp on his tongue, a mix of memory edged with the nightmares from his own personal active imagination. His hands shook as he clutched the sheets with a death-grip. The still air around him suddenly becomes too little and too much at the same time and he bolts out of his bedroom into his kitchen.

He searches the cupboards in vain, finding only a sticky note from Kate with a quickly doodled coffee decanter and a message of ‘IOU’.

Grouchy, cold, and worse, decaffeinated, Clint glances around the guest room; a room that was practically his own at this point with how many times he had crashed in it. He weighs the pros and cons of grabbing a blanket and curling up on his old couch versus gathering the one, two… seven coffee mugs he had _borrowed_ over the last year from the other Avengers, then going to the common room to drop them off and get more coffee.

Or.

Clint snatches a gray blanket and wraps himself in it like a cloak. He then tucks the end over his shoulder and behind his neck to free up his arms for carrying the mugs for the journey up to the common room. 

His poor feet peek out, uncovered to his ankles, since neither Stark’s guest pajama pants nor the guest room blanket were long enough , and give several loud pops in complaint. 

“Fuck’n peanut gallery,” is what Clint goes to say, then stops, screwing up his eyes in annoyance when he registers he never grabbed his ears from the nightstand.He spends the rest of his walk whining about having to eventually go back to the stupid room, because hanging around the Tower without them would just piss Clint off. When he finally arrives at his destination and starts to place the mugs into the sink, Clint’s fingers discover there’s a lot more grime on them than he’d originally thought, and he starts scrubbing them down before he puts them in the dishwasher.

It is barely five in the morning and he isn’t paying attention to his surroundings, so it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize he isn’t alone in the room. Part of the reason he would rather have his ears on outside his own personal bubble of a building.

Really, it takes a soft yellow light in his peripherals for Clint to look up from the sink, mid-wash of his third coffee cup, to spot the Winter-Goddamn-Solider meekly waving at him. The other man is flickering the lamp next to him on and off, giving off a strobe light effect, which causes Clint to have a little bit of a heart attack.

Barnes is wrapped head to toe in a huge microfiber blanket with only part of his face, his waving right hand, and his ridiculously huge bunny slippers poking out. Clint is aware that beneath his own blanket, he has no shirt on, which means that his uncovered left side is showing off a stretch of skin covered in colorful soulmate tattoos.

Oh.

He just stands there, blinking back at Barnes until the other man carefully wiggles his covered hand out from the monstrosity, without any more of the blanket slipping off, and starts to sign at Clint. Barnes is almost directly in front of the light so Clint tried to squint to see what he’s saying.

Barnes, bless his heart, must realize the same issue and shuffles himself away from the lamp, so his hands are easier for Clint to read the question of if he wants help washing the cups.

Clint shrugs, caught off guard by the offer. He looks down at his soapy hands and shakes his head before opening his mouth to thank Barnes for his offer then decline it, but the man is already signing that he’ll get the coffee started, smiling softly. Then adds a cheeky “you’re welcome”.

Clint sticks his tongue out in response and goes back to working the (maybe weeks old, perhaps months old) stubborn stains from the mugs. They work in silence. Barnes doesn’t touch Clint to get his attention, just slides his coffee over. The fact that Barnes made a cup for him first is extremely thoughtful, then the man takes it a step further by getting Clint’s attention, shaking both the milk and sugar in the air with an eyebrow raised in question. Clint immediately nods and Barnes gives him another smile and then back to work Clint goes.

Four cups down now, only three to go.

A realization hits Clint that despite the fact he left his ears in the other room, the usual buzzing in his skin doesn’t appear. In fact, the usual unpleasant air of knowing someone is right next to him, making his sense of touch go haywire, is absent as well. Barnes breaks the spell when he plops the mug of, now caramel colored coffee, back down onto the counter. He hasn't even moved to make himself coffee yet, but simply waits until Clint finally thinks to look up at him, then asks if he’s okay.

Clint nods, nods some more, and just keeps nodding right into an excessive amount of time spent nodding territory, so he rushes to drink his coffee as an excuse to avoid eye contact-- because Barnes is just being a thoughtful good co-worker superhero dude and Clint is being awkward and _Dumb_. Of course Clint’s idiocy rolls over from mentally to physically, and he almost drops his perfectly made liquid gold due to soapy and wet hands. He sticks the landing though and manages to get the explosion of sweet sweet perfection on his taste buds. Clint can hear the vibrations of himself groaning into the coffee as he gulps it down. Nothing else matters in the world to him in this moment of pure bliss besides _his precious_. 

All of which is why he doesn’t notice, until after he’s stood there for several minutes with his mug upside down catching every last drop, that Barnes has moved to the sink and is working his way through the second-to-last old mug Clint brought down.

Oh.

Clint, as if struck by lightning, starts making Barnes a cup of coffee to thank him so he doesn’t do something dumb; like kiss the poor man due to his being inclined towards over-the-top displays of gratitude and a high track record of impulsive decisions. 

How many times was he going to agonize over Barnes doing small favors for him? 

His mind is trying to go 60 mph with a V4 engine taking its sweet time to get up to 40 and stubbornly doesn’t want to move faster, so Clint is entirely too distracted to notice a patch of skin between his left thumb and his wrist starting to itch. His mind is still stalling when Barnes dries his hands and takes the coffee that Clint hands him on autopilot; a quick ‘thank you’ and seven different crinkles in the corner of his eyes.

Clint’s mind hasn’t even finished calculating the soft smile he’s given after the man drinks the coffee that Clint can barely remember making and shit-- hopefully it’s actually _good_ and Barnes isn’t humoring him, because Clint has drunk days-old cups of coffee and not minded what with no money and no other options.

But, of course, in that moment Clint’s eyes immediately zone in on the new edition to his hand; the hand that is still extended from giving Barnes his cup. There, nestled beside the collection of colorful soulmate tattoos he’s acquired over the years (because if there is one thing Clinton Francis Barton is good at, it’s giving his heart to every fucking person he knows), is a bright red star.

 _Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone that wants to know more of this soulmate universe. When you love someone, you get a soulmark. When you stop loving someone, that mark can disappear, start to fade away, turn from color to black & white, all sorts of things. Love is a complicated emotion so you just get a mark and there's a bunch of propaganda and bullshit around it of platonic vs romantic and, smaller section of familial. Plus the idea that you have one 'true' soulmate or that only your romantic soulmate's (again, one 'true' love) mark is fully covered. Also, the shame that is put on those who 'lose' their marks and just overall shit. This is a whole fleshed out universe I've thought out while making it that I didn't even touch. I will say Clint Barton is thought of as an oddball (or less politely, a freak) for having so many soulmarks, and also having none of them ever fading or losing their color. If you for some reason wanna talk about it, find me on discord (letsallsleepoverwork#1995) or tumblr: letsallsleepoverwork.tumblr.com


	3. i don't want 99 problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another [ronnie meet ugly prompt.](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/274308) this one is #1: "we were set up on a blind date but it went horribly, so now you message me every time you have a good date because you think your tips will help me in the future, you ass "
> 
> Clint Barton Bingo - "You are a child!" - B2  
> WinterHawk Bingo - Ronin/Cap!Bucky - G4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not gonna lie, i love identity porn. this one was such a fun fill cause man are these two bozos idiots.

Nobody said being a superhero was going to be easy. Naturally, nobody would have suspected Clint Barton, who’s superpower was making everything ten times harder than necessary, to be one. It is one more thing to add on top of a nearly impossible job, along with long days with little to no sleep, and bruises that never get the chance to heal. Clint's body is a collection of bruises layered over previous bruises. At this point, Clint is quickly becoming just one big bruise.

His phone flashes from across the room, where it was charging on the one outlet in his studio apartment that worked, signalling he had a new message. Begrudgingly, he extracts himself from the nest of blankets in the corner that is his bed, and groggily crawls his way to the phone.

He has a parade of unread messages; each update from a different number and date, but unfortunately, all clearly are from the same asshole.

 **From: (672) 311-7883**  
April 2, 20XX 8:12 PM  
[ just went on a wonderful date :) ]  
[ she arrived on time, even after 12 hours of work and cooking for her two year old ]  
[ best part was her pants never caught on fire once during the date ]  
[ amazing, right?! ] 

**From: (364) 949-8705**  
April 4, 20XX 4:57 PM  
[ met a nice guy at the bar and wow we made it through a three hour conversation without either of us falling asleep once ]  
[ must be some kind of Christmas miracle ] 

**From: (551) 872-4140**  
April 7, 20XX 2:36 PM  
[ you know… ]  
[ you should try showering regularly ]  
[ might improve your chances with your future dates ]  
[ just a thought ]  


**To: (551) 872-4140**  
[ You. Are. A. Child. >:( ]

Clint takes a deep breath after his impulse message back so he doesn’t do something extra stupid and throw his phone out of his seventeen floor window. 

He is going to kill Tasha the next time he sees her though for not only tricking him into going on a blind date but setting him up on the date with the biggest asshole on this side of the Mississippi, possibly all of the US.

He quickly backtracks on that thought and looks around to make sure she’s not near and doing her freaky ‘I know everything including your thoughts’ trick. She would kill him before he even got within a mile of her. He was just going to give her the cold shoulder… maybe just a really nasty face.

Yeah. That would be sure to show her.

He stares back at his last message and mentally kicks himself for not sending something like _‘too bad you can’t keep a date’_ or _‘what? no second dates for you?’_

Dammit, Barton, you dummy. Those were both way better responses.

Clint jams the buttons until these numbers successfully join the other twelve that ass has previously used in the blocked list. Wait, thirteenth counting the number that left a twenty-minute voice message, which Clint absolutely did not listen to in its entirety; he obviously didn’t listen to the details of an extra fabulous date one James Buchanan Barnes, the fucking grade A+ asshole, went on. Where the hell was this dickwad getting so many random numbers anyway? Dick.

He does end up sending a frowny-face to Tasha after his mental rant before nodding off right there on the floor, fake hardwood not helping his soreness.

He wakes up to Tasha petting his hair, maybe after an hour… or four? At this point time was an illusion to Clint’s lack of coffee bean fueled brain.

At least she woke him gently, as well as has with her the largest coffee cup she’d ever brought. One she claims to have bought solely because it was the largest container she could hold one-handed. Which basically translates to, ‘I’m bribing you with coffee, so you don’t care you’re being bribed’.

As far as Clint is concerned, it means, ‘free buttload of coffee!’.

After a quick ‘gimme’ hands towards the delectable caffeine, and ten solid seconds of chugging, he is alive enough to take in her I’m-being-nonchalant-but-I-very-displeased stance.

“Mission?” he prompts eagerly, knowing Tasha wouldn’t have just dropped by for cuddles and chill if she brought him coffee. She usually came for that with food, medical supplies - and on several occasions - some vitamins that were only labelled in a Russian scrawl stating it’s ‘Good for Bones’.

She sighs and searches his eyes.

“I need your help with a case.”

“You need me?”

She raises a brow and then reiterates, “I need Ronin for a case.”

Clint jumps up, ignoring the cracks in his spine from sleeping curled on his stomach on the floor, and stretches it out as best as he can. 

There was no point even trying to hide anything from Tasha, she always knew all his injuries anyways. She has heard the cracks; she’s seen him naked a few times and even on one occasion which he’s never allowed to speak of to anyone, when she pulled a bullet that was lodged in his hip.

“Give me ten minutes and I’m good to go.”

“You have two. We have a company waiting three blocks away at the coffee cart where I got that.”

He turns to look at her before it all clicks and he smiles, uncaring that his lips are so chapped they split in several places when he does.

“New Cap is coming?” he shouts and then immediately backtracks into a few coughs before repeating, a hair less excited, “I mean, oh he’s cool. Cool.”

The new, and in Clint’s opinion, improved Captain America was one of Clint’s favorite people. The dude was the epitome of cool. He was just as stupidly competitive as Clint, while still showing concern for Clint during their missions.. Beyond being an absolute badass, the guy has a wicked tongue, and could match Clint jab-for-jab. It didn’t matter that Clint knew practically nothing about the guy, and they never saw each other out of their superhero gear. He had a good record with Captain Americas. This new one certainly proved his point. Despite the tiny fact of not knowing each other’s real names, Clint considered New Cap one of his closest friends.

When Clint focuses back on Tasha, she’s shaking her head and mumbling Russian to herself.

“What.”

She stares at him long enough that he starts fidgeting and looking around.

“Tasha, what?”

“You two are the biggest idiots I know.” She takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes, but after softens, as soft as Tasha ever really lets herself relax into. “He’s excited to see you too.”

Aw, heck yeah. Now if only Tasha had set him up on a blind date with New Cap three weeks ago instead of crummy-dumb-backwards-hat-wearing Barnes.


	4. unexpected development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is naked, damp, and pissed because Clint Barton is a fucking idiot and he is going to throttle the dumbass whenever he finally stops shivering and it doesn’t hurt to move his left arm. 
> 
> Clint had the brilliant idea to start a snowball fight after they were left by Steve and Tony, when the latter triple dogged dared the former to try snowboarding for the first time. 
> 
> WinterHawk Bingo - Free Space - N3  
> Cint Barton Bingo - Warmth - G2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what they say, fourth times the charm, right? As an avid procrastinator, this wasn't finished in time to get beta'd... all mistake as usual are my own!
> 
> The boys do naked cuddle but it's for warmth. Mention of attraction, but they just sleep snuggled together.

James is pissed.

He is damp, sitting on his bare ass on a cold wood floor with no heating besides being wrapped in seven of the thinnest blankets known to man.

James is naked, damp, and pissed because Clint Barton is a fucking idiot and he is going to throttle the dumbass whenever he finally stops shivering and it doesn’t hurt to move his left arm. 

Clint had the _brilliant_ idea to start a snowball fight after they were left by Steve and Tony, when the latter triple dogged dared the former to try snowboarding for the first time. 

Somehow during the impromptu snowball fight - which granted, throwing packed snowballs at Clint’s face and seeing his comical facial expressions was immensely satisfying - the snow had melted and seeped between the casing of James’s metal arm causing the self-regulating heater to turn off. 

But - it gets even _better_. A snowstorm hit them after they’ve been thoroughly drenched.

Not only was his arm freezing against his skin and - due to his enhanced healing - his skin was shifting between numb and prickling around the limb, but the whole StarkSmart Cabinт🇲 reverted to a plain old cabin where nothing worked.

Clint is also naked, ten feet away and shivering in his blanket - that he fought with James trying to say he didn’t need it when he clearly was just as cold and James already had seven for gods sakes - while sending over guilty puppy eyes everytime he thought James wasn’t looking at him. His hearing aids are toast as well.

“Sorry,” Clint says so quietly that James almost doesn’t hear him over both their chattering teeth. James glaces over as the fool pulls his blanket even tighter and bites the edge of it in an attempt to quiet his teeth. James wonders who’s benefit the action is for.

In all honesty, Clint threw the first snowball, but he hardly had to twist James’s arm to get the snowball fight going. Plus, Tony had said it was a freak blizzard that hit them, so Clint couldn't have known the electricity, water, and gas would get cut off in a matter of minutes.

At least they were able to get in the cabin in time and the Stark radio held out long enough to hear that Steve and Tony made it to a cave before the worst of the storm.

James knocks on the floor with his flesh hand to get Clint to glance up at him before replying “we’ll live.’ 

It must come off harsh, considering after reading his lips Clint flinches minutely and mumbles what sounds like another apology. 

“Come over here,” James huffs. Clint gives him a strange look and James wishes he knew more ASL beyond ‘hello’, ‘thanks’, and ‘sorry’, to be able to communicate easier. He puts that thought on the back burner to research later because thinking about needing to learn isn’t helpful in the present moment, and repeats himself with a beckoning motion.

Clint squints at him but, in true Clint fashion, rolls himself so that he’s lying upside-down but face-up from just under James's left elbow.

James lip twitches, his anger softening a bit more, and before he can overthink it, he slides down and throws his blankets to wrap them together, careful to keep his metal arm from touching either of their bodies. The last they need is wet and cold metal on him, well any more than necessary. Clint’s body goes taut at James’ movement when he finally gets settled at a respectable cuddle distance of half a foot apart.

Looking into the blue-screen expression on Clint’s face, he feels a blush crawl it’s way up his face and hides in his ears. He diverts his eyes to the wall behind Clint until he powers through the embarrassment of being so close to someone else after so long as HYDRA’s asset.

“Don’t make it weird.” He defends his reasoning with, “It’s for warmth.”

Clint bursts into giggles and bends over slightly to hide his face in his hands, making the blankets shift towards him and off James’s back, letting cold air in.

James hisses and moves into the warmth of Clint’s body in reflex. The only thing between them now is the thin layer of Clint’s blanket.

He can feel his ears burning against his skull. Clint only laughs harder because he’s a jerk.

“Shuddap,” James growls, and Clint zeroes in on his lips, brows twitching. James, because he’s an ass, repeats the words clearly.

Clint smiles and he wiggles a hand free to poke at his chin as if he needs to seriously contemplate the request.

James is laughing before he even has time to process the reaction and relaxes into Clint’s body heat as his chuckles fade away.

Clint is still staring at him so for the sake of his own sanity, and heart, James closes his eyes and focuses on deep breaths. Maybe if he tries long enough, he’ll actually manage to sleep being this to someone else.

Too bad nobody told Clint it’s rude to stare at someone while they pretend to sleep. The polite thing to do is let them keep the illusion. Instead, Clint wiggles his upper body out of his blanket so they’re touching chest to chest. Which isn’t the worst part, because they already were somewhat plastered together under James’s blankets. James gets elbowed and shouldered and feels Clint Barton’s fucking half chub rubbed against him, even only briefly.

James angered and irritation comes flooding back to the forefront of his mind. Did he said he wasn’t pissed anymore cause that’s a lie, he’s fucking annoyed as fuck. 

His eyes fly open so Clint can feel the full force of his glare only to see Clint’s tongue slightly sticking out of his mouth and the idiot half a step out of their cocoon, taking only his singular blanket with him.

“What,” James growls and grabs Clint’s forearm before letting go quickly when Clint winces and stands abruptly.

They stare at each other before James reaches his arm back out to Clint. “Don’t be a fucking maytr. Get back here you dumbass and snuggle me like you mean it.”

Clint watches his lips and blushes prettily, presumably when he processes the request. Honestly, James ain’t complaining of the view with Clint standing there and only a thin blanket hanging loose and low around his hips. Not that he’s looking for anything either. Every part of his body is far too cold, and specifically the nerves that aren’t shot to death between his metal appendage and skin are freaking out so much he has no idea if it really is his nerves or just faulty wiring.

“Holy fuck.” James gets jolted by his thoughts when Clint’s feet touch the back of his ankles, and it’s only Clint bear hugging him that stops James from scrambling away in shock.

When James is mostly over the initial chill, Clint tucks his icy toes further into James’ blankets. 

“Just a hug,” Clint says a tad slowly and the volume of each word is just a bit off normal. “Don’t make it weird.” 

His lips are twitching and James scoffs, fighting against his own smile. As payback, he places his metal arm around Clint’s waist and feels his body jump but the idiot refuses to let go. James chuckles until a yawn interrupts and feels how his panic and anger has left him tired. Clint is smiling softly at him and when he sees James looking, leans forward so their foreheads are touching and closes his eyes. James closes his as well and finds himself actually drifting off to sleep.

Both are in such a deep sleep that when the blizzard settles and both Tony and Steve are able to make their way back to the cabin they don’t wake. Even though Steve and Tony are both understandably worried after the half day of separation due to a surprise blizzard and make a racket breaking the main door clear off and barging into the side room where James and Clint are sleeping.

It takes both a moment to understand the scene before them is of their friends are safe, naked, and snuggling.

Before Steve is able to drag Tony out the door, the genius is able to whip out his StarkPhone to take a picture for proof and maybe for possible future blackmail purposes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one ran away from me honestly ^^;; it was suppose to have James talking about memories of before the war with his family and Steve. Have him just kinda talk and Clint listen/feel the vibrations and eventually they just fall asleep on each other. Oh well. Still had a blast writing it.


	5. coffee, hold the crab?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone will tell you, Clint Barton is as normal as they come. Part time gym teacher, after school archery club coach, avid napper, and he kinda co-owns a cafe with some of the coolest kids he knows. Just a regular dude from Iowa trying to live in New York City, no big deal.
> 
> WinterHawk Bingo - WS!Bucky/normie Clint - I5  
> Clint Barton Bingo - Backwards - O2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much an intro to how the Winter Soldier meets, and is both reluctantly impressed and exasperated by a partially-deaf archer blond punk. He already found one he's begrudging fond of and really how many is he going to be collecting cause he's tired. Clint, on the other hand is just trying to live his best life while also not going bankrupt and letting the kids who rely on him down. A role model you know? They're doing their best, and they do eventually get to friendship, but the at the start? Well, it's a bit rocky.
> 
> Thank you a bunch to [my loveliest nephew pete-pie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuraKaw). You're the best for beta-ing this last minute for me cause I'm horrible and procrastinate.

Clint is just your regular kinda guy. Gym teacher during the week 8am to 3pm across Mid-State New York’s School districts. After the schools are out, he’s an archery club coach for kids from all different parts of town. On Saturday he has private lessons from time to time, usually only as a last resort when his emergency fund is running especially low. Weekends and coffee are sacred. 

Just your average Joe making a decent living while also scraping by in New York, New York.

That’s how this Saturday began too, average. He woke closer to noon, planned to get that sweet nectar of the gods, hoped to have no private lessons, which he didn’t to his bank account’s horror, and have a chill day. He did have plans to go to the archery range to make sure the old muscles got stretched after a few weeks of back to back tournaments, private lessons, and staff meetings.

Schmitt High, home of the Hydras, were doing their annual Spring let-go’s, aka they didn’t want to pay anyone they didn’t have to pay during the Summer. It was a lot of “it’s not you, it’s me” type of bullshit, as well as favoritism with those who were tenured.

Like every good morning, or in this beautiful case, afternoon, Clint stopped by the best cafe in the neighborhood, Grindr & Binders. It was sort of a self-brag considering he went 50/50 with Kate Bishop to get the location after her very nasty, very public emancipation with her father. Kate and her friends decorated and planned what they labelled a “safe space for youth of all backgrounds and identities alike to get some good fucking coffee”. Really, between the energy and determination of the youth today, and Lucky, Clint’s pizza dog that doubled for the cafe’s mascot, the cafe was surprisingly managing to keep itself and its owners afloat. Clint is sitting in the middle of the cafe, sipping on his dipio mocha with hazelnut whipped cream while texting Brock with his left hand so they can have their annual bitch-fest about how fucked up the Public School System’s administration is to use teachers and then let them go on a dime. He is genuinely, as well as literally, minding his own damn business, is when disaster strikes. 

His first thought when a body comes crashing through the window right into the pastry counter is “aw, money, no”, his second is to scramble up and out of the way of the honest-to-deities above, claw, the size of a grown man that takes out the rest of the window frame and part of the sidewall, after the body.

He raises his head to shout, at least part of a warning, but the person is already on the move, rolling to dodge the claw.

Of course, Clint, being a rational adult hiding from a crab the size of a truck with a vendetta against black kevlar, pulls out his compact bow, aims for the joints of its armor, and starts shooting. 

“What the **fuck** are you doing?”

Two distinctly different voices cause a feedback loop in Clint’s hearing aids throwing him off balance. One is Kate’s shrill disbelief from the opposite back corner to him, and the other, the one that with the help of a raging crab, is kevlar dude, himself, growling at him and yanking him beyond his feeble table for shelter when the claw inevitably freaks out in pain.

“Saving your butt, asshole,” Clint says back, or at least hopes it comes out right since his ears are still ringing. He steps away to look down at kevlar dude, who casually pulls out a six inch blade. Clint might puff his chest out a bit cause honestly fuck this dude for getting his ass thrown into Clint’s cafe and fuck him for bringing a goddamn crab tank to further destroy Clint’s cafe.

Even with a mask covering the lower half of this guy’s face and thick goggles over his eyes, Clint has seen enough people’s eyebrows to go up and scrunch together to recognize an “are you shitting me right now” look.

Well fuck you too, judgmental-weird-ass-try-hard-asshole… dude.

“Stat hern.”

Clint blinks and then the dude is launching himself at the crab with just a large knife, before he realizes: one, that’s probably not what the guy said because two, his ears are definitely busted for the next hour or so and he takes his hearing aids out to shove them into his pocket for safe keeping. By the time he’s focused back on the situation at hand, asshole kevlar dude has gotten himself smacked into the opposite side wall.

Clint gets back to shooting, and between the two of them, the overgrown crab is finally killed, the cafe doesn’t come crashing down, and no one gets killed on their watch. Although it turns out there is a buttload of the crabs outside being rounded up by the rest of the Avengers, and would you look at that, the asshole must be an Avenger.

He and the asshole he eventually comes to know as James “Bucky” Barnes, will end up surrounded by both their friends (and coworkers) at the newly rebuilt and reopened Grindr & Binders in a year over a friendly cup of coffee debating who was the better hero when they first met. Spoiler Alert, the winner is unanimously Kate, who threw a cake knife into the crab’s eye and gave them the chance at a killing blow and then made sure everyone who was present in the cafe got out safely while they played “superheroes”. It’s agreed that Bucky still owes Clint a coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! Hope you enjoyed me trying to shove my ideas into a small little snippet of a fic cause I had a lot and oh man what a world I started for myself.


End file.
